Spitfire
by Hayasaka.Shion
Summary: "Hey... Handa? What are you doing?"


**A/N: So yeah there's more on the way... I am multi shipping trash and I will not be stopped... muhahaHAHAHAHAHA**

Handa was drunk, dead drunk, and it was all Kawafuji's fault. Not that said Kawafuji minded, lying on his stomach as he was on Handa's guest futon.

His visit had been pretty much impromptu, finding out he had a pretty good number of paid leave days left and deciding to just go ahead and take them. Work had been pretty stale anyways. Handa hadn't even known he'd be coming until he was actually on the man's doorstep.

Two days into his visit, he'd managed to escape another village meeting (_read: excuse for getting drunk_) only to end up getting drunk anyways, and somehow dragging Handa into it too. Although, Kawafuji was surprised at how quickly Handa had gotten drunk...? The blond himself was only a little bit tipsy.

Handa's cheeks were a little bit flushed as he seated himself on top of Kawafuji, the man groaning at his weight, but too comfortable as he was to actually do anything about it.

"Kawafuji... what are you even doing..." Handa mumbled, seemingly too drunk to realize what _he_ was doing. The calligrapher giggled before lying down himself - on top of his friend.

"Hey... Handa? What are you doing?"

Handa clearly didn't care enough to reply. Kawafuji wondered whether Handa had just fallen asleep on top of him and he would have just left it at that if he hadn't felt Handa's fingertips lightly tracing patterns along his arm and slowly, gradually creeping up to the back of his neck and then his back. The sensation gave him goosebumps.

"Really like... I really like your tattoos, Kawafuji..." he mumbled again, this time pushing himself up so he had better access to the tattoos on Kawafuji's lower back. Pushing up Kawafuji's tank top almost to his neck in the process, but that didn't matter. Definitely did not matter at all. Of course not.

Handa's smooth fingertips which normally drew disciplined little letters on paper now traced wild, untamed hawks and suns on skin. His hands went lower, lower, until Kawafuji felt compelled to open his mouth and tell Handa that he was drunk and probably wouldn't do this otherwise.

"Tch, shut up... I'll do whatever I want... whenever I want..." Handa replied.

Ah, it was getting too late for Handa to back off now. The first stirrings of desire began to awake in Kawafuji as Handa retraced the patterns he'd done just a moment before, his fingers very lightly igniting fire within the other man and his eyes taking pleasure in the contrast between dark black and pale brown.

"Get off," Kawafuji said.

Handa didn't seem very inclined to listen to the command, not even bothering to say no but then Kawafuji could feel the pout that he would have on right now.

"I didn't mean it like that... jeez," he followed up, getting up anyways so Handa sort of slid off of him. Kawafuji sat up, pushing Handa down to the place he had so recently occupied, only Handa's face was staring straight at him instead of the pillow beneath him. He was a little bit surprised but didn't seem like he disliked it.

"You're drunk as hell, Handa... how do you know you won't regret this later...? You'll end up blaming me, won't you?" Kawafuji monologued, trying to see if Handa properly understood what he was saying.

Handa's eyebrows drew closer together to form a little pucker on his forehead as he replied. "God, Kawafuji, how much more time do you need to realize that I am doing this because I am fucking horny, you jerk." The words were spoken quickly, each one a clear example of how true Handa's words were.

Kawafuji snickered. "Wow, I didn't think you'd actually admit it."

"Fuck you, asshole."

"I think that's my line, though."

Handa nearly threw up his hands in frustration. "You want to top, be my guest. You don't seem to realize I haven't had any since you I came back from Tokyo anyways, you absolute cabbage." His words trailed off with a somewhat tsundere cuteness to them.

Holding back laughter, Kawafuji stared down at the straightforward dark eyes which met his, so full of desire and lust and love. He leaned down and kissed the lips which came along with those eyes, those lips soft from the incessant vaseline Handa applied to keep them from chapping. The response he received was enthusiastic enough.

'Spitfire' was the word that came to mind, 'desire' was the feeling that his brain processed.

But when he woke up in the morning which Handa's limbs all tangled with his own, 'home' was the word that came to mind, and 'protectiveness' made him draw the sheets closer around both of them.

As he saw the way the light hit Handa's sleeping face, his eyelashes going from black to a golden brown, 'soul mate' was the phrase that came to mind, and 'love' was the feeling that his whole body throbbed with.


End file.
